An Angel in Hell
by TheWhoLockedSupernaturalist
Summary: When Sherlock jumps, he is sent to hell. There he meets someone, another unfortunate soul. Dean Winchester. T to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes looked at the ground, looked at his fate. He looked back at Moriarty, who was laying on the ground, dead, a hole through his head. Sherlock was on the phone with John, but he wasn't conscious of what he was saying, just that it was being said and that it was condemning him. He finally came to, and found the left side of his face wet. A single tear had fallen,had landed on his coat. Sherlock looked down, his vision blurring, at his best friend. He looked at him, at said goodbye. Then he threw the phone behind him, and toppled off the edge.

* * *

Sherlock was thinking as he fell, thinking of the pain he would feel, of the pain John would feel. He was about o lose his best friend. Sherlock didn't have a plan to save himself. He only had one thing, and that was his determination that his friends should live. He looked at the ground rushing towards him, and thought one last thing, then it all went black.

* * *

Sherlock woke up. This wasn't right. He should be dead. He'd fallen off the top of a building. Then he noticed his surroundings. He was chained up, his arms and legs stretched out. He heard a voice nearby. What was the voice saying? He listened closer, and it came in loud and clear: "Somebody help me! Sam?"

**A/N: I will leave the first chapter on a cliffhanger. These are two of my favorite shows, and I just had the idea for this crossover, though it's probably already been done. Enjoy! I also have a tumblr, thewholockedsupernaturalist. If you have a tumblr, feel free to follow me!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I have had such a great response to this story. It's crazy. Seriously, it's less than three hundred words. Thanks, though, to all my readers. Time is all weird in this chapter, but I figured hell was weird so what the hell. Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own the gorgeous Jensen Ackles or the scrumptious Benedict Cumberbatch- I mean, Sherlock or Supernatural.**

**WARNING: THE END OF THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS BAD LANGUAGE. IF YOU WANT TO SKIP IT, FEEL FREE.**

Over the next few months, Sherlock got to know the voice. Its name was Dean Winchester. He was a "hunter", american, and apparently knew where they were. It was hell. Literally. Demons came and tortured them every single day, relentlessly. No matter what, they were always perfect the next day, ready to be tortured again. The only way Sherlock got through it was to think of John, how he would react. Dean said he thought of his brother, Sam, and his car. Hey, he was an american.

Sherlock would say he became soft in hell, but Dean would say that Sherlock had become more resilient. At the beginning of his stay, Sherlock was close to giving in at the end of every day, but he wouldn't talk to Dean at all. After 20 years, Sherlock could resist the demons' questions, but he would also talk to Dean every single day. They were used to each other, knew each other's screams, the life story of the other. In those years, Dean and Sherlock became like brothers. They were both humans who would not give in.

Eventually, after 26 years, they each found out why the other was there. It was at night, well, night on Earth, while their wounds were healing. Dean was the one to break the subject. "So, Sherly, why are you here?" Sherlock grimaced. After all this time, Dean still called him that stupid name. "My guess? I think because I was not the best person in life, and I committed suicide. What about you?" Dean paused. "Wait, you, commit suicide? Can I ask why?" Sherlock sighed. "You can ask." Dean grinned. "OK then, I'm asking." Sherlock rolled his eyes. Some people would always be morons. "I jumped off the top of a hospital to save my friends. It was after Moriarty died." Dean had heard about Moriarty. "Man,that guy was a dick." Oh so much tact there. "Yes, he was a...dick...I suppose. He shot himself in the head, so I had to jump, otherwise my friends would have died, shot by his snipers." Dean snorted. "Wait, you had friends? Impressive." Sherlock sighed again. "Now, why are you here?"

Dean Winchester had no qualms telling Sherlock the whole story. He knew everything else about Dean, had deduced part of it. "Well, long story short, I'm here because my brother got stabbed in the back, so I had to save him. I made a deal with the crossroads demon that I had a year before I got sent to hell. Man, I would kill for some burgers."

* * *

Four years later, Dean was torturing souls. He had screamed at the demon who was torturing him, had said yes sarcastically, but demons were demons, and they didn't care about sarcasm. So now he tortured souls. He had been forced to torture Sherlock once, but he "hadn't been harsh enough", so he never did it again. He did tell Sherlock something, however. He said, "Don't you ever say yes. I will come back here and kill you myself if you do. This isn't fun, and you shouldn't have to suffer through it." So at least he hadn't lost his humanity.

After forty years of being tortured, ten of them alone, Sherlock was ready to give up. The demons had sent Dean his way again, and he was doing the best he could to remember Sherlock, but it was hard. The day was almost over when there was a blinding flash of light. The demons all covered their eyes, shrieking. The light came towards Sherlock and Dean, and it stopped. It spoke, sounding like iron nails dragging across a blackboard. "Dean Winchester. You have been here too long," it said. "Damn straight. Who they hell are you, you son of a bitch?" The light continued. "That does not matter. I am here to get you out of here. Step into the light." Dean was no idiot, but this thing made the demons cower in fear. He stepped towards it, then looked back at Sherlock. "Hell no. Not without Sherlock." The light seemed to startle. "Sherlock Holmes? You should not be here either. Go with Dean." Sherlock found he could move. The chains, the ever-present chains, were gone. He looked at Dean, then smiled and spoke like his friend. "Let's get out of here. This place sucks ass." The light flared as they stepped into it, and suddenly it was all around them, going through them.

**A/N: That's it for now! Sorry for the language, I wanted to make it seem authentic. Also, Sherlock is a little OOC at the end. Anyways, please review, and in the meantime, I'll write a new chapter! Until next we meet!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So sorry for the longish wait. I do have a good reason though. I finally finished season 5 of Supernatural! But no spoilers, please! Disclaimer: I don't even have a job, what makes you think I could own two shows?**

Sherlock and Dean heard it at the same time; the voice again. It spoke, though it sounded duller this time. "Welcome to London. You are meant to be here. You need to be here." Dean snorted. "London? Why London? Couldn't we go somewhere normal like, oh I don't know, America!?" He then glanced at Sherlock, who seemed completely unfazed. Slowly it dawned on him and he remembered something about the way Sherlock talked. It was almost like he had an accent... A British accent... "Oh my god, you lived here? In London?" Sherlock looked at Dean. "Glad to see you finally catching on, Dean. Only took you forty years." The voice sounded again, and Sherlock and Dean covered their ears. "Work together. You will find something that suits both of your talents soon enough. Goodbye, Dean Winchester, Sherlock Holmes." There was a faint sound, like wings, and the light was gone.

Sherlock and Dean were in a cemetery, near a black headstone. Sherlock stiffened, deducing quickly. It wasn't hard. All you had to do was put together the angel's clues -of course it was an angel, what else could scare demons?- and you arrived to the conclusion. Just to check, though he knew he was right, Sherlock walked around to the other side of the grave. There were two words chiseled into the black stone, nothing more. Two words that were impossible, considering the man looking at them. Two little words that made up a name. Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

Dean followed Sherlock, who had suddenly grown tense. He looked where Sherlock was looking, saw what Sherlock saw. "Wait, are you kidding? We're at your freaking grave? " He twitched his eyebrows upwards. "Do we need to get salt and a lighter?" Dean chuckled at his own joke, but Sherlock said nothing. In fact, all he did was stand there, looking slightly disoriented. Any other man would have an expression of complete and utter shock and disbelief on their face. They would be stunned. Not so with Sherlock. It was actually kinda unnerving, or at least Dean thought so. A man looking at his own grave, and he only looked slightly disoriented.

The man in question finally looked away from the black, and towards the street. He saw a taxi drive closer, saw it stop, watched a person get out. Upon closer inspection, it was a short, blond man. Sherlock realized who it was. "Quick, Dean, over there, behind the trees. Come on, quickly!" Dean walked over grudgingly. "OK, OK, sheesh. What the hell, man?" Sherlock could only point at the man walking closer. Dean didn't realize who it was, so he did some finger gestures of his own. Sherlock sighed, exasperated. "It-it's John..." He trailed off, and Dean remembered what Sherlock had told him. 'I jumped...to save my friends...' Apparently this was one of Sherlock's friends, though Dean was hard put to know a name, seeing as he had never been told any. "OK, John. Was he one of dudes Morifarty wanted to shoot?" Sherlock smiled sadly at Dean's nickname for his nemesis. "Yes, that is John. Uh, John Watson. My, uh, flatmate. He, um. He was the one I, uh. I talked to before... Um, well, before I fell." Sherlock had more emotion in his eyes than Dean thought he was capable of. "You mean before you jumped." Always the comforter, that was Dean. Sherlock flinched. "What an apt description. Um, well, he was my partner in crime. Literally. The last thing I did before I got to the hospital was kidnap him and run away from about twenty of London's finest. Well, I say finest... Finest idiots." Dean almost chuckled, but he then remembered that the hushed voices and hiding were for a reason.

For a while, the two sat in silence and watched John.

* * *

John wasn't feeling his best. It had been four months since that terrible day, but it felt like four years. Four long months of flat-hunting, fishing for pity dates, and mostly sitting around Baker Street in Sherlock's chair. It was painful at first, but John had taken to drinking every other night. He could see why Harry liked alcohol so much. It dulled the pain from gunshots all over his body to a much better sharp knife in his gut. He looked up as he got closer to Sherlock's grave, and he thought he saw someone in the trees near the black slab. A specific someone... But he was dead. Dead and gone. Just a cold corpse in the ground with a bashed-in head.

**A/N: Well that was somewhat depressing to write. To be honest, I hadn't been planning on including John at all, but he demanded to be a part of this story. Maybe next time will bring a bit more Supernatural...**


End file.
